


Three-Point Hyperspace Fail-Safe System

by shipwreckinabottle



Category: Supergirl (TV 2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, F/M, Falling In Love, roommate shenanigans
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:34:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipwreckinabottle/pseuds/shipwreckinabottle
Summary: A Two-Point Hyperspace Fail-Safe System is a piece of engineering marvel that prevents Starships from encountering catastrophic failure in-between hyperspace jump points. A Three-Point has yet to be invented.;;AU: Kara’s on an interstellar-engineering scholarship at the prestigious Daxam Intergalactic Imperial University, where confessing to and getting rejected by one of the many Daxamite Princes on campus is something of an “honored campus tradition” for the ages.;in which Kara confesses to a random prince to get her roommates off her back, only for him to say yes, and her plans to keep her head down, remain invisible, and study hard, is suddenly thwarted by becoming the most popular girl on campus overnight, for all the wrong reasons.
Relationships: Kara Danvers/Mon-El
Comments: 41
Kudos: 53





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ALRIGHT, here we go. 
> 
> This is basically a University setting AU where Kara, on an interstellar-engineering scholarship, meets Mon-El at the Daxam Intergalactic Imperial University. The twist being Kara just wants to keep her head down and study, while Mon-El's an actual prince that develops an interest in her. 
> 
> The reason for the title is a play on words which you'll see during one of the later chapters.
> 
> The story is heavily Korean/Chinese-Romance-Drama inspired, and a lot of the prose / tropes will reflect that.
> 
> Not beta-ed. Let me know if there are any mistakes and I'll fix it ASAP.

At the entrance of Daxam Intergalactic Imperial University, was something of a peculiar sight, to say the least.

There was a young woman at the center of a small, gathered crowd. She stood stiffly, head lowered in a bow, a small, pink envelope held with both hands, her nervousness evident from its visibly scrunched sides.

The crowd shifted as she offered the envelope to someone in front of her, and a few _“Oohhs”_ and _“Aahhs”_ came from the people around them as a handsome young man was revealed as the intended recipient.

The man stepped forward, and he was tall and willowy in a refined, elegant way; long, dark curls framed the sides of a strong, angular face, and he had prominent high cheekbones that curved along a natural grin halfway between a mixture of amusement and playfulness.

He approached the bowing woman, slowly, unhurriedly, and in an almost relaxed way. He appeared completely unaffected by the growing crowd around them, the many curious stares and gossips being passed around, like being at the center of attention was something of a normal, unimpressive occurrence for him, even in a _possibly_ embarrassing situation such as the one he’d found himself in.

He stopped an arm’s length away, greeting the bowing woman with a polite nod of his head and an unworried, friendly smile. His eyes glanced towards the envelope in her hands, an acknowledgement, but didn’t reach for it.

Instead, he took a wide step back and bowed forward in a smooth, practiced fashion. His bow was even lower than the woman’s own—a respectful gesture in Daxamian culture, though from the many gasps of surprise from the people around them, not something they had expected to see from a person of his standing.

He held his bow until the woman, finally recovering from her own shock, nodded, and her hands—still holding onto the pink envelope, returned to her sides. When she did, the man stood back up, brushed a stray lock of hair from his face, and smirked—one that was clearly meant for her and her alone.

“Thank you,” he said. “But I have to decline your lovely offer.”

The girl blushed red at his response, and the crowd erupted into cheers as he exited the scene.

Shortly after the young man’s departure, so did the crowd as well, leaving the young woman behind, along with a few of her waiting friends who were watching from the sidelines. They immediately ran up to her, enveloping her in a large hug, cheering and clapping her on the back, loudly congratulating her on—of all things—a very, very public rejection of her “love confession.”

Even stranger still, was that the young woman didn’t seem the least bit dejected. She was jumping up and down, as excited as her friends, laughing and cheering along with them, and she hadn’t stopped smiling and giggling since her encounter with the man who’d rejected her only moments ago.

 _Yeah, definitely a Daxamite thing,_ Kara thought to herself as the crowd of students blocking the university’s entrance finally went away, allowing her passage onto campus grounds.

She retrieved her bicycle, which’d been leaning against a tree since discovering the crowd a few minutes ago, and picked up her bags, slinging them over her shoulder. After scanning her student pass through the entrance gate’s security post, she rode slowly into campus, wanting to capture the experience of entering a new university for the first time. 

The dawn sky was orange and warm, inviting, the kind that ushered in hope and the promise of a wonderful, new day. Light had not yet fully broke, but the dozens of holo-signs erected across the campus indicating directions and building names, greeted everyone with a soft, lambent glow. 

Kara gawked at the many unforgettable sights; while she’d seen the esteemed buildings of Daxam Intergalactic Imperial University plenty of times on the holoweb, they were an altogether different experience up-close, invoking a sense of progression and growth, betterment and advancement for the dreamers and the romantics, a place with all the tools in the world, a place full of dreams.

She biked past hundreds of students from all over the known galaxy; and large, picturesque—but clearly artificial—lawns of grass and trees; all the greenery on campus a strange, but lovely contrast in the backdrop of dull, brown, and rust.

She followed the holo-directions to the dormitory housings, which were located at the back end of campus grounds, in-between the public plaza and the Mathematical Sciences building.

Her assigned room was located in one of the smaller, more compact buildings cramped together in a boring shade of cost-effectiveness and grey. Nothing like some of the gorgeous multistorey apartments she’d passed by earlier near the auditorium, jutting skywards for the red heavens in a spiral of silver and modern engineering design and wonder.

She certainly couldn’t afford to stay in the latter on her modest scholarship budget, but Kara wasn’t complaining. The opportunity alone to study in a prestigious university such as DIIU was more than enough. Everything else, like leaving her small, boring hometown behind; the chance to make new friends from all over the galaxy; and to experience their culture, food, was a huge plus. Every opportunity here was what she’d been working so hard for the last few years of her life, all her sacrifices, late nights spent studying, and a fair share of failed and broken social and or romantic commitments. She was more than content with a small bunk in a small, shared room. If they had required her to set up a tent outside of campus grounds, she’d gladly do it too.

She stopped by the parking lot, sliding her bicycle into one of the many bike racks; the place was overflowing with hundreds of bicycles—the main mode of cheap transportation for most of the students on campus, as treaded tires work amazingly well on the tough, rusted Daxam soil.

The main elevator though, much to her disappointment, was _not_ working amazingly well, or at all. Adding to her misery, was that her room was located on the fourth and top floor. But luckily for Kara, most of her luggage had been delivered ahead from Krypton, so all she needed to lug up four flight of stairs were the bags she’d brought along and, of course, herself.

Four flight of stairs and through a long, dreary, and monotonous corridor later, Kara arrived at her room. She took a long second outside. _This was where she’d be living for the next few years of her life._ For someone like her, who’d lived all of her short twenty-two years with her parents on their small farm in a small town on Krypton, this was a nervous, yet exhilarating step towards the next part of her life.

There were voices coming from within, which meant that her roommates had already settled in. Kara took a deep, deep breath, prepared herself, and knocked twice, lightly, then turned the knob and stepped inside.

The first thing she noticed was the room itself. It was certainly bigger than she’d initially thought, with two large bunk beds at the back of each corner, each with their own personal drawers and storage space; a window in-between the beds, and a decently-sized dining table in the middle of the room, already filled with snacks, utensils, and a cute little plant at its center.

The next thing she noticed, was the careful details and lovely decorations of everything around her; while initially grey in design like the rest of the building, the walls were currently covered in a technicolor motion of brightly colored drapes flittering about from the warm breeze coming in through the open window, bringing in fading starlight and a sense of lovely vibrancy, reminding Kara of old projection screens from a time long before the space-faring age. There were also flowerpots set up all over the room, filled with plants and colors of all kinds, alongside paintings and picture frames of happy, smiling people.

Kara instantly liked the place, and knew she would like the people too that would try their best to turn a place so dreary and boring into a lovely home to return to after a long day of study.

The conversation that she’d heard going in stopped as soon as the two other women in the room noticed Kara’s arrival. “You must be Kara!” the girl seated at the dining table jumped up, her bob-shaped haircut bouncing up and down as she skipped over to grab Kara’s hands. The shorter girl was like a humanoid-shaped ball of happiness, with a huge warm smile, bright cheerful eyes, and there was something just so pure and authentic in her joy that Kara immediately guessed she was the one who’d decorated their room in all the bright, lovely colors. “I’m Sephaline, you can call me Seph,” she pointed to the room’s other occupant, “that’s Esmeeiv.”

Esmeeiv sat on one of the upper bunk beds, hidden partially in the shadows. While Seph wore colorful flowery clothing, Esmeeiv was dressed completely in black; a black tee, a dark cardigan half wrapped around her waist, black compression sleeves along toned, muscular arms, and ripped black stockings, all in the same dark shade as her hair. “Yo,” she said with a wave of her hand, revealing a shaved undercut and black ink as she turned to face Kara.

“Hello!” Kara bowed. “It’s so nice to meet you both.” She faced Seph. “I really like what you’ve done to the place. It’s so colorful! I-”

“Oh, no, I didn’t do anything at all,” Seph giggled. “Everyone immediately assumes that, but it’s all Esmeeiv. She insists she did it because she couldn’t stand me complaining about how everything’s all so grey all the time, but I think she did it because she wants to make me happy and not because she’s annoyed. She might not look that way, but trust me, underneath that dark, evil aura of hers… is an artistic, caring, and colorful soul wanting to break free.” She made an exaggerated, rolling, wavy motion with her hands like she was floating without gravity.

Esmeeiv rolled her eyes and flipped Seph the finger, the latter who immediately burst out into roaring, table-slapping laughter, which resulted in a chain reaction that had both Esmeeiv and Kara bursting into loud, uncontrollable laughter too.

 _Yes,_ Kara thought as she struggled to breathe through the laughter, _I’m definitely going to like it here_.

“So, have you confessed yet?” Seph asked later while Kara was unpacking her luggage into her bunk space. Seph had the bottom left bunk, Esmeeiv took the on e of top of Seph’s, and Kara was given the bottom right bunk. They had one more roommate, but as Seph explained, ‘ _She’s never around, probably bunking with her boyfriend in the silver dorms, he’s a rich diplomat or something.’_ Kara learned that while the two housing sections had different, fancy names, they were simply referred to as the grey (cheap) and silver (expensive) dorms.

“Confessed?” Kara asked, confused, wondering if it had anything to do with Daxam’s customs or many religions. “I don’t think so. I’m afraid I’m not quite well versed with Daxam’s religions, there’s way too many reading material for me to digest in a short period of time.”

Seph giggled. “Not that sort of confession, silly. I mean…” she leaned closer, smirking as she nudged Kara’s shoulder with hers. “A _Love Confession_.”

Kara blinked. “A what now?”

“Wait,” Seph gasped, hands to her mouth. “You don’t know about the confessions!?”

Kara shook her head.

“B-But… it’s campus tradition!” Seph squealed.

Esmeeiv peeked her head down from the top bunk. “Kara, have you been living under a rock? Do you really not know about DIIU’s _honored tradition_?”

Kara sat down onto her bed. “Girls, I have absolutely no idea what the two of you are talking about.”

Seph sat down beside her and said in a serious manner. “The _Confessions_ are an age-old campus tradition from all the way back to the days of the long treaty.”

“The treaty?” Kara asked, frowning in thought. “As in… the Galactic Peace Treaty which Daxam signed over three-hundred years ago?”

“Yep, that treaty.”

“What does that treaty have to do with confessions?”

“Well, it was the first time Daxam opened their borders to the rest of the space sector…”

“Uh-huh.”

“There was peace for the first time in centuries, and people were all preachy about makin’ love and not war.”

“And…?”

“What do you get when you open the borders of the last remaining galactic empire, known for their beautiful arts, philosophy, and a bunch of bad boy warrior princes to the rest of the galaxy?”

Kara laughed, “Seriously?”

Seph nodded. “Mhm.”

“That’s it? The actions of horny lovesick girls three-hundred years my senior is what constitutes as tradition here at DIIU?”

“If you put it that way… yeah,” Seph laughed. “But it’s not that serious, Kara. It’s just something we all do for fun or to blow off some steam. I don’t think the princes are allowed to date outside of nobility either, so it’s not like they’ll say yes. So, most of us take the opportunity to play a bit of dress up and try to inject a bit of romance into our lives, without the risk of negative social consequences. Plus, you get to interact with actual royalty for a moment. It’s kind of like how… have you never wanted to go up to a celebrity and say hi or ask for a photo before?”

Kara thought for a moment, “Yeah, but most of them are dead.”

“Wait, what?”

“I would love to get a photo with Vsasa Iinvt, who formulated the theory of how universal gravity could be harnessed for intergalactic flight, or Gaoil Mone, one of Krypton’s earliest star-mappers, to pick his mind would be amazing, or…”

Seph had an incredulous look on her face, “Okay I think I get it, you like older men. No judgement here.”

“W-What, that’s not what I-”

Seph giggled as she waved her hands, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.”

Kara frowned, but couldn’t hide her smile. “What about the two of you?” she asked. “Have you confessed yet?”

Seph nodded. “That’s the first thing I did after arriving on campus, actually. But mine was nothing special, you should’ve seen Esmeeiv’s. Oh Rao I wish I had recorded it, I’ve never laughed harder in my life.”

“How did it go?” Kara asked, not quite being able to imagine Esmeeiv’s confession. 

Seph started to laugh again, and couldn’t contain herself well enough to deliver the entire story but in-between blurts of laughter. “She… The first prince she came across… she did the whole… _‘Oi fuckwit, wanna go out or what?’…_ line. He was… flabbergasted! He just stared at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes before shaking his head… I think he even blushed!” When she finally caught her breath, Seph winked at Esmeeiv, “Maybe he likes the fierce ones, eh?”

“His loss,” Esmeeiv shrugged from the shadows.

Seph wrapped her arm around Kara’s shoulders, “So… my dearest roommate. How’s your confession coming along? You’re not truly in the sisterhood until you get rejected by a prince, Y’know?”

“I…” Kara stuttered, not sure how to avoid the situation until momentarily saved by loud commotion coming from outside the window.

Seph went over first, peeked her head out, before gesturing at them wildly. “Over here, over here! It’s happening!”

Esmeeiv hopped down from the top bunk in one smooth action and Kara joined her two roommates at the windowsill, which provided them a view of the dormitory grounds, plaza, and carpark below.

“Over there!” Seph pointed in the direction of a man walking across the plaza area. He walked alone, and took quick, brisk steps, in a way that seemed more like he was uninterested in talking to anyone than that he was busy; the air of someone really annoyed, and really wanted to be left alone.

It was a different person from the one Kara had seen earlier at the university’s entrance. “How many princes are there?” she asked.

“Five, currently, and two princesses,” Seph answered. “Oh my, it’s… Mon-El.”

“Here we go,” Esmeeiv cringed. “Poor girl’s going to get her heart broken. She’s picked the wrong one.”

“The wrong one?” Kara asked.

“Yeah, most of them tolerate the traditions, but the eldest prince is… well… you’ll see in a bit.”

A young woman stood in the prince’s path, waiting for him to close the distance. Even from where she watched the encounter, Kara could tell that the woman was in a nervous fidget. When the prince was close enough, the woman stepped out in front of him and bowed, offering a letter to him.

Instead of stopping, or responding in a respectful manner like the previous prince Kara had seen, this prince simply stared at the woman, seeping annoyance, like she was nothing more than a nuisance blocking his way. Then, without even acknowledging her presence, he stepped past her, and continued on his way.

“That’s just…” Kara started to say.

“Cool? Dreamy? Unbelievably sexy?” Seph sighed, her fingers interloped with a dreamy look of her own.

Kara laughed, “I was about to say rude.”

“To be fair,” Esmeeiv said. “They do have a lot of obligations to fulfill on the start of a new semester, can’t be easy dealing with hundreds of confessions along with that. I can definitely see a few of them getting annoyed over it. More power to the ones who’re respectful, eh?”

“Yeah… but Mon-El’s soooooo dreamy,” Seph said in a sing-song voice as she flopped down onto Kara’s bed and buried her face in the cushion. “I want him to ignore me like that too,” she said in a muffled voice, much to Kara and Esmeeiv’s amusement. 

_“Kara, have you confessed yet?”_

_“Have you confessed yet?”_

_“You confessed yet?”_

_“Confessed yet?”_

_“Confessed?”_

_“Confessed?”_

_“Confessed?”_

_“Confessed?”_

_“Confessed?”_

_“Confessed?”_

_“Confessed?”_

Two weeks of non-stop nagging later, Kara couldn’t stand it anymore.

“Fine, FINE!” Kara snapped as she slammed her interstellar-engineering textbook shut and shot up to her feet, much to her two roommate’s cheers and obvious delight.

“Really? Really!?” Seph sounded like a child whose parents finally allowed her permission to get a pet. “Who are you going to ask? Arthvas? Joivn? Lars? Draa’kan? Mon-El? Or is Livana and Veeviane more your type?”

“Don’t know, don’t care,” Kara shrugged, causing a few of her colorfully mismatched hair rollers to bounce about. “Couldn’t tell the guys apart even if I wanted to. Since the goal is to get rejected, I’ll just ask the first one I see,” she said, pushing her glasses up against her nose and pulling her oversized pajamas pants up as high as she could to stop the hem from dragging along the floor. Most of her pants did that. Because most of her pants came from the bargain bin at the thrift store and not ordered to fit.

“You’re not going to change out of… whatever that is?” Seph asked, face scrunched in exaggerated disgust while Esmeeiv nodded in agreement.

Kara looked at herself in the mirror. If comfy-leisure was an acceptable style, she’d be perfect. Perfect for a night’s in alone, anyways, as long as no one could see her. “Nope. I’m coming back to study right after, no point changing.” She was about to leave the room when Seph said, “Are you forgetting something important?”

Kara stared at her until Seph said, “A love letter! Come on Kara, you can’t confess without a love letter, it’s _Love Confession 101_.”

“Seriously?”

“Mhm, mhm. It’s the experience that counts.”

“Fine,” Kara whined, flipping her study notes around, pulling the first piece out and scribbling something on the back. Then, before Seph could say anything else, Kara waved the paper in her face and ran out of the room, not waiting for either girls to follow along.

It was later in the evening then, Rao already in half-slumber, dragging pale starlight across the apricot skies, while Agoron and Koron, twin-moons of Daxam trapped in their perpetual orbits, danced like estranged lovers in the coming night. 

Kara stomped out onto the front yard, pink slippers kicking up a flurry of rusted dust. She panted from the exertion of sprinting down four flight of stairs, and took a second to wipe her fogged up glasses. She scanned through the crowd outside, wondering for a second if it was a mistake to run out without first actually locating a prince to confess to.

Then, _There!_

At the other end of the carpark was a small group; a man walked in its center, and four flanked his sides, looking more like bodyguards—which they probably were—than friends. More importantly, was the hovercar that waited for the group, with a flag of the royal family’s insignia at its side.

That was it, she couldn’t be mistaken, _a Prince_.

She ran in their direction, slippers leaving muffled steps in the rust. Halfway across the carpark, she realized she wasn’t going to catch up. He was already halfway stepping into the hovercar, and Kara knew that if she were to miss the opportunity, her roommates were never going to let her hear the end of it, and she really, really needed a full, quiet night’s worth of cramming for her upcoming tests.

So, she gathered a deep breath, and shouted in his direction.

“HEY! HEY YOU!”

It came out a lot louder than she’d expected, and she immediately cringed as a flurry of interest quickly ricocheted across the open space. It worked, though, as the prince stopped and turned to look at her, but so did dozens of others, all equally excited to see another confession, as curious stares and hushed whispers slipped without abandon into the darkening night.

She was at the center of everyone’s attention now, and she wanted nothing more than to run back in the direction of her room, but she was in too deep to back out now. Getting rejected was normal, screaming at a prince and then running away in embarrassment was… well, she’d be the gossip of the school tomorrow. And Kara, who really wanted nothing more than to keep her head down, study hard, and protect her interstellar-engineering-scholarship at all cost, really, really didn’t want to stand out in the first-years, at least not non-academically, not at all.

So, she tried to calm her nerves while jogging the last few steps over to the prince, who now stood outside the hovercar, body facing her. She realized then it was _Mon-El_ , and she didn’t know whether or not it was good fortune that it was him out of all the other princes. From what she’d seen in the last two weeks, he usually dismissed the confessions with a rude stare or a curt nod, which, in a way, was perfect for someone like her who didn’t care one bit about this particular _Honored Campus Tradition_.

While she’d only seen him from far away, Mon-El was a lot more intimidating up close; strong, broad shoulders, an intensity in his eyes as serious as it was cold; and short, dark hair that she couldn’t tell if was a natural black, brown, or a mix of colors from the fading sun and all the rust around them. What caught her attention the most, though, were his lips. They stretched into a thin, straight line at her approach, giving the impression of a face that seemed more naturally inclined for frowning than smiling. 

She took a quick breath to compose herself, then held out her hastily scribbled-on engineering notes. “Here, take it,” she said, cringing inwardly, thanking Rao that Seph probably wasn’t anywhere close enough to hear her “confession.”

Unexpectedly, though, he took the piece of paper from her. She blinked in surprise, and it seemed—initially—that he was more interested in the engineering section of the notes rather than what she’d written behind. Then, he turned the paper around, and his eyes narrowed at that _one_ hastily scribbled word.

_"DATE?”_

He didn’t say a word, but stared right at her face, eyes boring into her skin, as though searching for something only he could see, making her feel extremely self-conscious about her unglamorous look for a moment. Then, his lips twitched, like he found what he was looking for. Without saying a word, he folded the note carefully into a square and slipped it into his jacket, and got back into the car. He didn’t look back at her, didn’t acknowledge her, but as the windscreen slid upwards, it stopped right before completely closing and he said a single word that stopped Kara completely in her tracks.

“Okay.” 

Then it closed, and the hovercar roared like a monster into the night.

Seph and Esmeeiv caught up to Kara a few seconds later, the former completely out of breath and red in the face while the latter barely affected by their jog.

“D-Did he just…” Esmeeiv whispered, wide-eyed.

“OH… MY… RAO!” Seph squealed between deep breaths. “Is this the first time in history a prince had ever… What in Rao’s name did I just witness?!”

Kara squealed too, but for all the different reasons. “My notes!” she squealed. “He took my notes!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heh. Thoughts?
> 
> There's a clear reason as to why Mon-El said yes. It's pretty cute. You'll see in the next chapter.
> 
> And yes, Mon-El saying yes is extremely special, because it's the first time in 300 years of confessions whereby a prince said yes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update, ran out of writing juice for a bit. Anyways, glad to be working on this story again. There's an absolute rollercoaster of cute coming your way x]
> 
> Not beta-ed. Let me know if there are any mistakes and I'll fix it ASAP.
> 
> also: the title was meant to be Three-Point. I named it two by mistake big OPPS. Fixed.

The Daxam landscape blurred by under the night sky, its glimmering surface reflecting a constellation of lighted habitable zones spread out in patches of civilization and faraway rust-rock outcroppings. Pure starlight seeped through the hovercar’s transparent viewscreens, illuminating the cabin in a silvery radiance.

Mon-El studied the piece of paper he’d accepted from the strange, loud girl. While the “ _DATE_?” written in large, blocky letters on its back was clearly the point of the message, he discarded that portion without much thought. He flipped the paper around, not caring for drivel—was all the university’s customs and traditions were to him. The contents of the paper, however, were far more amusing.

“ _Outlining – Theory for a Three-Point Hyperspace Failsafe-System and its proposal_.”

Her thesis statement? Research paper? Not a final piece for submission but an early draft, clearly, from the dozens of hastily scribbled-over points dangerously skirting the edges of a large coffee ring left out to dry. For a theoretical engineering system based more on speculation than proof-of-concept.

What she’d written wasn’t a novel concept, but a common subject matter he was well versed in, which was the reason he’d accepted the note in the first place. Her ideas were neither new nor compelling, even the ones she’d highlighted and circled over excitedly in red. Most of those were still bareboned, stuck in a mediocre loop of dead-end theorizing and a clear lack of practical, applied testing. 

It was unimpressive. Most of those ideas he’d tested and disproven long before even setting foot onto DIIU’s campus. And others were so in the range of preposterous he didn’t give them a second look. (Using harnessed cosmic matter pressurized down to a gaseous state as an alternate source of propellent? Had she not thought about its instability in light-speed travel? Was she trying to blow up the entire spaceship? How ridiculous!)

At the end of the day, the concept of a Three-Point hyperspace failsafe system was neither new, nor ground-breaking (the concept at least). For the better part of the previous centuries, there’d been dozens of governments and many more private research companies trying to develop a Three-Point system. Which—if successful—would be implemented, like the current Two-Point systems in every spacecraft in production in the known galaxy.

It was a concept every intergalactic engineer knew would exist at some point in the future. Like aerospace engineers from the early days of space travel dreaming of designs that would one day take them across the cosmos. But whether such designs would take them ten, twenty, or even a hundred-years, was something much harder for them to pin down.

His fingers brushed across a small doodle at the edge of the paper, a spaceship with huge googly eyes. If the large coffee ring wasn’t enough an indication that this was a rough draft, the doodle would’ve done the job just fine.

Still, he found it amusing. Not the ideas themselves, but the way he could see them developing across her draft. The paper resembled an unedited roadmap, from the hasty inception of her ideas to forming shaky foundations and so forth, messily written and paved across the other, like a mad scientist’s first draft—something quite uncommon in the days of digital ink and the required ‘ _perfectionalism_ ,’ in their industry of work.

Even more amusing, was that he was handed a piece of paper from a first-year student’s torn out—and likely in the process of being discarded—notes. Did she use the paper because she’d given up on its contents? Was it from a lack of funding or hitting a wall she couldn’t break through? Because if the notes were so important, then why would she have used them the way she did?

He didn’t know the girl personally, but in their limited time interacting, if she was who he’d thought she was, she didn’t seem like the type to give up easily. The contents of the paper had caught his attention—yes, it wasn’t every day that someone would come up to him confessing with a part of their engineering notes, but he hadn’t accepted that piece of paper solely for its contents.

Mon-El closed his eyes, sinking back into his seat, and thought of his trip to Krypton a few months back.

 _It is you, isn’t it?_ he wondered, _from back then?_

_4 months ago._

The monotonous droning on and on of irrelevant details, unrelated matters, and petty, trifling squabbles would be the death of Mon-El. His father had assigned him to the Daxamian delegations in charge of peace relations between Daxam and Krypton, hoping he’d learn something in the tedious, mind-numbing process.

And yes, he’d certainly learned something. He’d learned how absolutely, unequivocally boring politics were. He’d learned how most dialogues and deliberations, no matter how trivial, would always descend into a bickering horde, spacepod-size-measuring contest, with only their own self-interests in mind.

And he’d learned, or more accurately—came to the firm, indisputable realization that a life in politics and diplomacy, regardless of his father’s wishes of him, was absolutely not the life he’d envisioned for himself.

To travel the galaxy, experience hundreds of foreign worlds and their customs, yet be trapped inside the safety of a diplomatic suite, followed around the clock by “gold-rated” security teams while boring men and women (sometimes lizards, robots, and bird-people) in suits droned on and on about their influence, political standing, and wealth, with the subtlety and tact of an enraged Berzakian in a Kryptonian teahouse.

It was suffocating. He’d rather be in his cramped little workshop, searching for a lost screw knee-deep in mess and grease than shake the hand of another diplomat with a practiced greeting from minutes before, and too fake a smile.

 _This_ , he’d told himself, was absolutely not what he’d wanted. 

Kryptonopolis was a domed city situated on the far plains of an icy tundra; surrounded by below-freezing temperatures beyond the habitable zones and blaring white in the horizons as far the eyes could see. Like a giant snow globe amongst many others, with populations each in the millions.

The city, with its similarly designed futuristic high-rises and constantly revolving shuttles, was something of a dull sight, designed not with aesthetics in mind but functionalism and practicality. Boring and singular in color, but to Mon-El—a masterclass in design. After all, no engineer cared as much about the aesthetical design of an engine-piece buried deep inside a hundred-ton Obtsanium steel chassis, rather than that it would function perfectly and not having the ship’s organic occupants burn up during orbital re-entry.

To escape from his suite, he barely needed a disguise. The shifting temperatures of Krypton gave him the perfect excuse. He tossed on a thermal suit, a thick cap, and an air-regulator face mask with built-in infrared googles for navigating the cold. He looked like every other travelling Kryptonian on their way across busy Kryptonopolis; none would take another look, and no one was particularly interested in making friends during one of the coldest winters to hit the planet.

It wasn’t long before the time came. After hacking the camera feeds on his floor and slipping past the guards during their mapped rotations, Mon-El hung around the hotel’s parking complex until coming across the first delivery man he could find. (it took longer than planned since most delivery platforms used drones these days).

The delivery man—likely a student, was more than happy to sell his decade old speeder for twice the market price of a more recent model. Mon-El was fine with the exchange. Money wasn’t an issue. Anonymity and speed, on the other hand, was well worth the exchange of credits. And he really wanted both.

A few hundred miles away, Kryptonopolis was a barely visible snow globe, fading sleepily over the horizons, the light and heat it produced like a setting sun in the evening’s cold.

The cities and habitats of Krypton, unlike the harsh—but often liveable—conditions of Daxam, were all located within artificial biomes; large, habitable bio-domes connected all across the planet’s frozen surface by long tubes known as “passageways”. Each passageway ranged from a few miles to a thousand depending on the habitat it was connected to; from massive, sprawling cities to privately owned farmland, each dome possibly entirely different from the previous. The planet’s rotation also played a big part in the conditions of different biomes. Those that faced Rao enjoyed warmer pastures, while those orbiting away—like Kryptonopolis during this particular part of the year—dealt with harsher winter conditions.

He picked a random passageway in the opposite direction of the cold, not minding the few hours’ ride. Most vehicular travel these days were automated, and on the busier, crowded roads of mega-cities like those of Daxam, a necessity. However, with most of Krypton’s inhabitants confined within their biomes, the long passageways were often empty except for drones on delivery routes. Perfect for a few hours’ liberating ride.

At the end of his journey, Mon-El found himself at a forested mountain range caught by Rao’s light, with long winding roads and tall, powerful trees gathering enough shade at their canopy to restrict the view of the circular dome; close enough for someone to imagine themselves in a natural, magical forest and not an artificially grown biomass.

Still, as he sped through the chilly breeze and the warm touch of sunlight, breathing in the pure mountainous air, he doubted anyone would really care if all the nature around him was artificially grown or not.

He slowed down as he ascended the winding paths; the roads were not dangerous, as the plants were genetically modified to keep at a respectable mass; but he did so to enjoy the journey, deeply inhaling the cold air as the shadow of nature’s canopy provided him artful shade. Warm sunlight filtered through the treetops, leaving little trails of light in his path, like wisps of Rao’s magic, leading him towards an adventure of his own. 

He came to a stop near the summit of a small hill overlooking the dome’s center zone. There was a large disc of blue in the distance: a lake at the center of the forested biodome, surrounded by a crown of lush trees and small glimpses of civilization. His gaze wandered, from the low brick buildings to the dome’s inhabitants by the pier, no bigger than small dots at his distance—when something else caught his eye.

A trail of black smoke rose from between trees somewhere between him and the lake. While thick, the smoke seemed contained, blowing against trees but not catching anything alight; the bioengineered trees likely of inflammable biomass.

Curious, Mon-El placed his helmet back on and drove in that direction.

A couple minutes later, Mon-El came upon the source of the black smoke. It was an old farming tractor, stranded on the side of the road, thick smoke heaving from its engine compartment.

He stopped near the truck and got off his bike. It didn’t look to be anything serious, just a small malfunction. But as there was no one else around, he decided to take a closer look, to see if he could offer help. 

As he approached the stranded vehicle, a frazzled old lady appeared from the other side of the tractor, a vibro-screw in hand. She seemed to be alone, and from the way she was holding onto the screw—clearly upside-down—at a complete loss of how to fix the issue at hand.

She stared at him, like she was gauging his ability before gesturing to the tractor, “Young man, do you know how to…?”

He nodded. “Let me take a look.”

He moved around to the front of the tractor. The smoke was thick and heavy, but his face-mask—a high quality air-regulator made for the rust storms of Daxam—filtered out the toxic airborne particulates with ease. He lifted the front hood, letting most of the exhaust dissipate before taking a closer look at the engine block.

He didn’t have any of his tools on hand with him, but going hands-on wasn’t a problem. Most mechanics and engineers these days used smart A.I. and robotic systems to handle the heavy lifting and precision. Compared to actual human hand-eye coordination, the machineries were perfectly precise down to the micrometer, and could move hundreds of tons of equipment with ease. 

He owned several of such systems back in his workshop; some industrial grade, some yet to be released to the public, and even some he’d built and coded on his own. But even with such precise equipment, he still enjoyed the feel of metal beneath his fingertips, the press of his palm against the rumbling of a perfectly oiled machine he’d just put together with his bare hands. Which meant that unlike some of the engineers he knew that only worked with machines, practical ability still came as second nature to him.

When most of the smoke billowed away, the chassis revealed an old engine block, bordering on ancient. Mon-El cringed inwardly at the sight. The engine block was neither cohesive nor properly assembled, thrown together from spare and scavenged parts. A Frankenstein’s monster of discarded pieces scrapped together and hoped for the best. It was a miracle the engine didn’t explode on ignition. From genius engineering or an unbelievable stroke of luck, he couldn’t quite guess.

He shook his head at the abomination. It would’ve failed safety regulations in over fifty-two star systems. Then again, he highly doubted that the old lady cared much about mandatory engine safety regulations.

Pulling the sleeves of his thermal suit over his hands to protect them from the heat, he checked the engine block’s external parts. He couldn’t find fault with the compression pistons and the regulator valves, and while the design of the block was an atrocity, he had to admit it was at least sturdy.

It took him a few more minutes of careful troubleshooting and prodding before locating the source of the breakdown. There was minor leakage from a fuel rod near the bottom of the structural frame, which when exposed to the heat of the engine block, started the fire.

The fix was simple. All he had to do was to flush out the combustion chamber, plug the hole, and reset the system. Textbook. A procedure he’d done over a thousand times, could do even in his sleep.

He was reaching for the fuel pumps that led into the combustion chamber when someone spoke up from beside him, suddenly, and uncomfortably close.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

Mon-El startled, almost knocking down the tractor’s raised hood. That was when he noticed the young woman standing beside him, way too close for comfort. She stood leaning over the side of the tractor like he was, though on her tip-toes due to her shorter height, holding a fistful of long, golden-brownish hair back behind her head, studying the engine block with a look of intense concentration in her eyes.

“Excuse me?” he said, turning to her. He noticed her bicycle parked near the side of the road, which explained why he hadn’t heard her approach.

“Yere about to flush the combustion chamber,” she said, with an obvious Kryptonian twang. 

“Yes.”

“Bad idea.”

He wanted to laugh at her audacity. Not because he was a crowned prince and she, a Kryptonian country bumpkin, but that she was questioning his abilities. Abilities he’d honed over the years and prided himself on. He’d probably built more engines from scratch than she’d rode laps on her bicycle.

“There’s a leak,” he rolled his eyes, though she missed it from how far she was leaning forward to look at the block. “I need to flush the chamber so I can rid it of residue before--”

“Yes. But not when the engine is running on Astainium fuel.”

That made him pause. “Astainium?” That didn’t make sense. Astainium fuel came from Astainium crystals, which, centuries ago, was used to attain nuclear fission for powering spaceships. It’d been phased out in the last few hundred years in favor of Celathium ore, a cheaper, common, and much safer alternative for space travel.

Astainium crystals were extremely rare, costing a fortune, and not to mention—extremely illegal due to its dangerous, volatile nature. Which was why he’d not considered it at all. Especially when it came to a small-scale ancient tractor. “That’s not…”

The girl nodded. “There’s an Astainium mine near Mrs. Felsiras’ farm, right?”

The old lady nodded, causing Mon-El to immediately take a step back. Seeing his reaction, Mrs. Felsiras added, “Don’t worry, the ores are unrefined. Radioactive decay won’t occur.”

“Unless…” the girl added in.

“… mixed with an oxidizer. Which is what I would’ve flushed the combustion chamber with,” Mon-El answered, only then realizing how close he’d come to setting off an explosion that could’ve taken apart half the mountain with him.

“Yep. Now, let me handle it,” the girl said, stepping into where he was and bumping him aside with her hips.

He ignored her rude gesture, stepping aside and watching curiously as she took apart the engine block and fixed the issue. Her technique was a little amateurish and unrefined, at one point causing lubricant oil to spurt and getting some on his shoes, but got the job done.

Afterwards, she slammed the hood down and gave Mrs. Felsiras—who was back in the driver’s seat—a thumbs up. The old lady keyed in the ignition, and the tractor gave a few groaning spurts before settling into a proper, satisfying rumble.

Then the girl turned to Mon-El and gave him a slap on the shoulder. He winced and glared at her, partly in shock, partly not knowing how else to respond. 

She grinned. “You’ve got the idea, buddy, but problems in the field can often vary from those in the shop.” Her Kryptonian directness was a bit jarring. So was her non-issue with personal space. But he couldn’t argue with her. She was right, and the mistake was his.

“I know.”

“Don’t worry, we all learn from experience. Rao knows how many engines I’ve blown up myself,” she winked. “You’re doing your apprenticeship, right? I think you’ve got potential. Good luck with it!”

Before Mon-El could formulate a response, or think of how she could’ve even possibly come up with that conclusion, she gave him another slap on the shoulder, then retrieved her bike and rode off, waving a free hand behind her until turning around the bend ahead.

He stared until she disappeared, still perplexed by her statement, unsure whether it was an insult, until noticing the sticker on the back of the speeder he’d purchased from the delivery boy. _‘Gam’s mechanics & apprenticeship’_

He chuckled.

 _Damn Kryptonians_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *GASP*
> 
> Did I just drop the misunderstandings + meetcute combo two in one? Bet your ass I did! 
> 
> Also Kara trying to shoo Mon-El away by bumping him aside with her hips is the best.
> 
> Next chapter: roomate reaction + the school finds out!?


End file.
